


Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: Savor The Suffering [9]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Animals, Bad Days, Best Friends, Blankets, Brotherly Affection, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Caring, Coffee, Common Cold, Coughing, Exhaustion, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, Multiple Selves, Napping, Nausea, Sickfic, Sneezing, compassion - Freeform, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Even the strongest King can fall victim to the most nefarious of colds! Fortunately, the King has a loyal comrade to come to his rescue.





	Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to my characters (well, they're Mark's characters, but you know what I mean) but when I get sick, they get sick!

The King of the Squirrels never imagined he would see the day that going outside didn’t appeal to him. He had dedicated his entire existence to the outdoors, to his subjects, to his mission. He was a _King_ , a pillar of strength, nobility, and grandeur and he had to maintain those standards for the good of his people.

Today, however, the pillar of strength, nobility, and grandeur felt like he had a few cracks, specifically in his skull. He was awoken abruptly by a terrible pounding in his head, centered just behind his eyes, and all of his joints joined together with the drumbeat in a chorus of aches. The King groaned softly and then swallowed hard around the tickle in the back of his throat, unbelievably tempted to curl back into the warmth of his fur cloaks and sleep for another two or three… _days_. When he glanced at the clock, however, any consideration of rest disappeared.

 _Ten o’clock?! I’m meant to be up at six! Oh, my subjects will be starving, the poor things—_ Swallowing down the urge to panic, he braced himself and sat completely upright in one go, wincing and pressing a hand against his forehead as he fumbled with the other for his glasses. As soon as he put them on, they felt like they were digging into the sides of his head, putting just that much more pressure on it, but he did his best to ignore it, stumbling upright and pulling his cloak after him. Tying it around his neck was an unexpected struggle, but once he finished, he rolled his shoulders a few times, resisting the urge to wince.

It seemed…so much heavier than usual…

 _Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character_ , he reminded himself, leaning into the mirror and peering at the bruise-like dents under his eyes. Where he had heard that saying, he didn’t even remember, but he leaned a little too far and his forehead hit the mirror, knocking the thought out of his head and leaving it painfully throbbing.

He needed to stop dawdling, he remembered, blinking to clear away the daze. His subjects would revolt if he didn’t feed them.

The walk to the kitchen seemed miles and miles long, but he made it there eventually, squinting against the overly bright lights as he rifled recklessly through the cabinets for the jar of peanut butter.

“You’re not as punctual as usual, King,” Dark remarked from where he was sitting nearby, causing the King to jump and whirl around to face him, pausing for a few seconds to let the dizziness subside before he replied.

“Everyone needs a few extra hours of sleep once in a while.” He desperately wished that he sounded more confident. “Being royalty is trying work.”

“I wouldn’t imagine taking care of creatures that are barely as tall as your ankle would be that difficult,” Dark huffed, flipping his hair out of his eyes to take another bite of his brunch.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. They’re energetic little things…” He didn’t know how long he’d be able to put up with that energy when he was feeling like this, the King mused privately, leaning a little more heavily against the counter as he located the peanut butter. As soon as he cracked it open and the scent wafted up to him, his stomach twisted in a rather unpleasant direction and he closed his eyes against it, sweat prickling along his hairline and his underarms.

What was wrong with him? This was one of his favorite foods! But the thought of dipping a hand into it and applying it made his skin preemptively crawl and after another moment of hesitation, he set it down on the counter and rested his weight on his elbows, doing his best to breathe evenly. He coughed instead, suddenly and explosively, causing Dark to look up.

“Are you well?” he questioned lightly. The King’s eyes narrowed at the hint of amusement coloring the eldest Ego’s tone and he suppressed the next coughs that tried to follow.

“I’m just fine,” he answered, straightening with a yelp as the back of his head connected the cabinet immediately above. Dark snorted lightly, unheard by the King as he whined quiet curses, sliding off the edge of the counter to sit on the floor and cradle his head.

“That sounded painful,” the Author announced his presence as he entered the room, a bowl of cereal in hand. The King glanced up at him as he came into his field of vision; though that field was swimming disconcertedly, he noticed how the Author’s expression of curiosity morphed into one of concern. “Whoa—hey, are you alright? You look like the King of Raccoons with those dark circles you’ve got going there…”

“I’m fine,” he repeated in a rather unconvincing whisper, leaning his forehead against his knees. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Perhaps if he repeated it, it would become the truth. “I’m fine, I—”

Apparently his friend had given up on the King regaining any sense of proper function, for there was already an arm sliding underneath his to support him. “Lean on me,” the Author ordered briskly as he leveled him to his feet. “We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

“It’s ju—It’s just allergies,” the King protested, trying to shrug away, but his legs had apparently decided not to follow the directions he was giving them; instead the Author took the brunt of his weight, guiding him toward the couch not far from where Dark was sitting. No sooner had he landed did the King stiffen and inhale shakily, trying to hold it. Eventually the pressure in his nose became too much and he lurched forward, releasing a harsh flurry of high-pitched sneezes.

“Sure, it is,” the Author agreed wryly as he pulled an abandoned blanket off one of the nearby chairs and swept it over his friend’s knees. “Dark, I’m taking one of your cups from the cupboard.”

“Did I give you _permission_ to—?”

“No, but I’m doing it anyway; the rest of them are dirty. I trust you won’t want it back once the King gets his contagious germs on it, right?” the Author pointed out, earning a deep glower from Dark which barely seemed to faze him. Perhaps he _should_ have been fazed, considering that Dark could probably burn literal holes into him with his stare if he wanted to, but the oldest Ego simply gathered up his plate and prowled bitterly out of sight. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood to maim the Author today.

The King, meanwhile, curled up on the couch, fidgeting with his blanket and shifting until he found the most comfortable spot. It was only a few minutes later that the Author reached over the back of the couch to hand him a steaming black mug.

“Coffee and honey,” he stated sagely, as if it was a trusted remedy. “It’s better than you might think!”

Savoring the warmth as he cupped it between his hands, the King took an experimental sip, coughing a little as he swallowed. It was a little too hot as it went down and it wasn’t as sweet as he might have liked, but he wasn’t about to complain. With how stuffy his nose was, he doubted he would have been able to taste any added sweetness.

“Good on my throat,” he murmured instead, to which the Author made a pleased sound and came around to throw himself into one of the chairs across from him, swinging a leg over one of the armrests.

“Anything else I can do?” he asked, unusually cheerful. Was he putting on an act for the King’s benefit, since he wasn’t able to do it himself? If so, the King…actually found himself appreciating it. At least one of them could seem bright at the moment.

“What’s your latest story about? You…you could read it to me,” he admitted, blowing more tendrils of steam away from his drink and then giving up, sliding it onto the coffee table to cool naturally.

“Oh, I see how it is! Right as I sit down, you expect me to trudge all the way to my shed and fetch the manuscripts? You slave driver!” Even so, just as quickly as he’d sat down, he rose, leaning over to pat the King’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t expect it to sound pretty, though; my beta reader’s out sick for the day.”

The King huffed a soft laugh at that, taking a moment to lean his head against the Author’s forearm. Why, he didn’t know; it was just an instinct, but his friend paused, allowing the contact for several seconds before adding an additional squeeze and pulling carefully away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, his tone a bit softer. The King nodded in agreement, allowing himself to relax more fully against the cushions as he listened to the other’s footsteps fade toward the backdoor.

The next thing he knew, he was startling awake, disoriented by the fact that he wasn’t in his room or in a tree. A coughing fit soon brought him out of his half-dreaming state and he clenched his teeth against it, keeping the disgusting fluids down until it eased into shaky wheezing.

Once he was able to uncurl from his pained ball, he remembered: the living room. But how long had he…? The coffee was still lightly steaming on the table, so it couldn’t have been long, but now there was a box of tissues and a few decongestant pills waiting for him next to it, along with a few manuscripts.

Where was the Author? No sooner had this question entered his mind did a muffled noise from outside the window catch his attention. He winced as he twisted, using an arm on the back of the couch as leverage to crane his neck and look outside.

His bewilderment, concern, and discomfort were promptly forgotten. There he saw the Author hunched over a little dray of eager squirrels, smiling tentatively as he let them steal thick daubs of peanut butter from his fingers.

 _As soon as I get better, I’m giving him a knighthood_ , the King decided with a slight smile of his own.


End file.
